Daughter of the Dovah
by IcarusColonius
Summary: Ten years after the events of Skyrim, Braith finds herself learning to adapt to her new way of life. As she finally begins to settle with the changes that were thrust at her during the Battle of Whiterun, the Aldmeri Dominion decides to come knocking, and Braith is unwillingly thrown into the fire. With new found skills and brand new friends, how will our young new hero adapt?
1. Chapter 1

Sweat beaded down my temples from the humidity in the air alone. Stepping out of my home every morning was suppose to be the relief I longed for, but during a hot summer's day, it only caused steam to roll from my pores. The warmth emitting from the gravel road gave off enough heat to make me melt down before them, making the agony of the weather ten times worse. And to top it all off, the day was Loredas, so everyone was bustling in to the market district from the main gates, and I lived smack in the middle of the both of them, so the street before me was bustling with traders and shoppers.

"Get a move on," spoke a rough feminine voice behind me, as I felt myself getting shoved towards the rows of people, "we're burning the day!" I scowled back at my mother, whom was smiling at me a little too brightly for this early in the morning. The bags under my eyes caused my facial features to darken more than I would have enjoyed. Her short cut, jet black hair barely touched her shoulders, appearing like curtains for her face. Though her hair was graying in places from her age, her sharp brown eyes countered those feathers, and showed that her age was nothing to judge her on.

"I think the day's trying to burn me." I said, feeling the corners of my lips pushing back my cheeks. My adoptive mother, Lydia, was a local housecarl here in Whiterun. She had since retired, realizing that her husband could easily take care of himself, though she enjoyed accompanying him during his travels when I was younger. That all changed when she retired from adventuring, and took an open position as Captain of the Guard, which Jarl Frothar had no trouble offering her, given her years of service.

"Easy on her Lydia," spoke a burly voice from behind her, "she's still young, let her live a little." A pair of arms the size of spruce logs wrapped around my mother's waist, which surprised her periodically, before she placed her hands on his and leaned back, resting her head against his shoulder. I don't know why he always called me young, I had just celebrated my twenty-second birthday, which seemed elderly enough for me. Lydia sighed into my father's thick brown beard before she spoke, eyeing me happily.

"Well, Braith," she began, "I suppose one day off wouldn't hurt." I could feel a smile tugging against my cheeks, as I released the hard grip on my birth father, Amren's sword, and turned towards the market district. I didn't have time to take off my armour, I had to see him now before he departed on his mission. I turned away from my parents, towards the main gates, and sprinted against the flow of the crowd headed to the shops for the day. I reminded myself to thank my father when I got back, not able to remember the last time I had a Loredas off from training.

I didn't have time to go down the path when I exited from the gates, and continued sprinting forward. I lept off the edge of the cliffside, rolling against the wood of the walkway above the final gate at the bottom of the hillside, which was only a few feet down from the rocky side I jumped from. A few guards on duty there became startled, and were most likely ready to detain me had they not seen who I was, knowing full well who my mother was. I waved to them both, who gingerly released the swords they'd grabbed for in shock, before I leapt down from the battlement, to stand in front of a few Imperial soldiers just about to exit the final gates.

I looked toward one of the soldiers off to the right, who donned glimmering steel imperial armour, that shawn against the eastern morning sun. His light brown hair hung out from the sides of his open helmet, and a foolish grin donned his face when he recognized me, despite my steel plate armour, save the helmet.

"Baby Battle-Born!" I yelled to him, grinning equally as wide as he. I stepped forward and took him in a tight hug, letting our armours clang together nonchalantly. Despite the height difference between us at this stage of our lives, I was still a year older, and he was still a baby to me, who occasionally handed me some septims or risk his life keeping it from me. Lars let out a chuckle at his old nickname from our childhood years, before stepping away from me and taking a heavy punch to the arm where his armour cut off. He winced in pain as I smirked at him.

"Thought you could take off without saying goodbye to me?!" I howled at him, doing my best to fake some anger. He looked a bit sheepish when I said this, and turned away slightly, rubbing the back of his neck under his helmet.

"Sorry," he began, "I was in a bit of a hurry, I barely got to say goodbye to Mila, and she lives with me." He was still turned away when my face flickered to pain, but I covered it up with a laugh. It was true, I had always had a bit of a crush on Lars, and we were each other's first kiss, but I guess the girl who had decided to be nice to him instead of beat him up everyday has stolen his heart. It didn't affect our friendship, though; I had always done my best to get along with Mila, but the thought of having lost a love still prickled in the back of my mind.

I shrugged his comment off, "Oh well," I said, "at least I caught up to you to get mine."

"Yeah" he smiled, ignoring the awkward stares from his comrades who has no idea who I was. There was a bit of a pause before he spoke up again.

"Well," he said, returning the punch I gave him earlier with a lighter one, "I guess I'll see you in a month or two, Braith. Take care of Mila for me?"

I smiled. "Anything for the family, Lars." I said, as he turned to walk past me. I stepped out of his way and gave a little wave, which he returned, before he walked off with the rest of his company. My smile fell when he went out of sight, and I heaved a sigh of exhaustion, still dealing with these pent up emotions I felt for him. Why couldn't Mila have died of food poisoning when she was younger? I had nothing against her, but it would have made my life sure a hell of a lot easier.

My walk back up to the main gate was long and tiresome, especially in steel plate armour that I'd practically slept in this past week. My mother was becoming increasingly persistent with her training, and when she wasn't teaching me how to skewer a man in four seconds or less, my father was helping me perfect the Unrelenting Force shout that I'd been training with since I asked about it when he took me in. I had it down for the most part, but the occasional hiccup happened every now and then, literally. Whenever you messed up the incantation or didn't put enough power into it, it was like a giant dovah hiccup blew you backwards. So far, I'd busted a beam on Warmaiden's, a few doors in the house, and the windows of The Drunken Huntsman.

When I reached the top of the hill, next to the gates, I gazed out towards the southern end of Skyrim. I could see Lars and his company moving through the Whiterun fields, headed east towards Riverwood. There, they would unite with another company consisting of some locals from there who had joined the Legion, and assist in their training. They would continue on to Falkreath to complete it, and return when they felt satisfied with the recruits' progress.

With Mila on my mind, I decided that I should go and pay her a visit. I stepped back through the gates and into the main city, and decided to head up the steps instead of checking the Market District for her, in case mom had changed her mind about training. When I finally reached the steps of the Battle-Born house, I couldn't help but glance at my old home. Pain shot through me when I saw the doorway open, and a happy family stepping outside with a little girl resting in the mother's arms. Little do they know about the horrors those walls once held, and memories that will never leave me because of it.

I turned away from the house I once called home, and knocked on the door a few times. After a moment of waiting, the wooden frame opened to a small blonde man standing at about my height, with a slight advantage. I smiled up to him, tilting my head in a friendly manor.

"Jon!" I said cheerily, looking past him slightly, "Is Mila at home?"

"N-Noope!" He nearly yelled it at me, bouncing himself back and forth between the sides of the doorway, pushing off one side and the other. It only just occurred to me that he was holding a half empty bottle of mead in his hand, and I wondered to myself what number that was for him on this early morning. "She went down to the stall! Not the horse stall though, the veggie stall." he continued.

I nodded, "Thanks Jonny!" I said, waving as I backed away from the doorway and made my way down the steps. He attempted to return the wave, before stumbling backwards into the house and shutting the doorway. I made my way towards the tree near the Temple of Kynareth, careful not to glance at my old home, with a simple goal in mind to make it to the market district.

I turned at the tree and made my way down the stone steps, taking in the sight of the shops all around the bottom of the stone. Off to the right at the stalls, I could see Mila handing one of her customers a fresh looking gourd, which they both made to smile about. Septims clinked into Mila's hands before she slipped them into the bottom of her pockets, and she was left to once again observe everyone else receiving business.

"Still no cheese wheels," I said, tsk'ing as I walked past Mila's stall and came to stand in front of it. Her face lit up when she saw me, and she practically beamed at me. Despite her happy expression, bags tainted her eyes that screamed of stress, no doubt for Lars and his travels. She was probably just happy to see another friendly face to take her mind off the entire thing.

"Good morning, Braith!" the smile on her voice emitted through her voice. I examined the stall before her, that was so well kept and well organized, with each display of organic food being perfectly faced and placed, to show how professional Mila was when she took over for her mother. In all honesty, I believe myself she was just a neat freak. "Not training today?" she continued to speak, to which I replied with a simple shake of my head.

"She let me go for the day," I said cheerfully, "thanks to father convincing her I needed some me time." Despite having said all this, I kept the thought at the back of my head that maybe they were the ones wanting some alone time. My inner self cringed a little before leaning against the countertop of the stall.

"So Lars is off again?" I spoke, keeping my tone cautious, in case she was upset like she was the last couple of times he went off campaigning. Sure enough, her face grew dark and secluded, but she still managed some sort of cheery tone.

"Yes, once more," she said simply, "but at least it's only for training, no actual combat." Her smile brightened a little when she finished with that, and I kept myself from pointing out how the legion actually works. My father had told me all about when he was initiated into the legion; how his first task was to take a fort just north-west of Solitude from bandits. He along with a few other fresh recruits and a legate set out to take the fort. Though the legate stayed back and observed for the most part, he was still at risk if he wasn't careful. No doubt that Lars would be doing some sort of similar tasks with his recruits eventually.

I didn't worry too much about Lars. We spared on our off days, and his swordsmanship has truly improved as we both matured. He could handle himself against foolish highwaymen, but Mila never understood any of that. She rarely left the city, had little to no combat skills, and mostly enjoyed the peace and quiet that came with living in the richest trading district in all of Skyrim. I couldn't blame her for this, having only her mother to learn from, as she inherited the food stall from her when she became too old to operate it anymore.

"Yeah," I left her statement at that, not wanting to say too much or leave to awkward of silence. Sure enough though, one came out of it all. Mila and I never had a real problem with each other, but we weren't exactly the best of friends. We only ever made small talk, or talked about Lars.

I stumbled a bit too close for my own comfort towards the food stall and towards Mila, when a blunt force wrapped itself around my neck and sent me forward. I glanced over my left shoulder to see a long brown-haired Breton girl with a bright smile.

"Erith!" I snapped at her, as I steadied myself against, standing on my own, "What have I told you about jumping me?"

"Sorry sis," Erith spoke, dusting off her blacksmith's apron and standing apart from me suddenly. Her smile never wavered, but it did settle to one that was more steady and calm. Erith was my adopted sister, one of the other children that my parents had taken in from the harshness of Skyrim. Erith was originally from a mine near Markarth, and had lost her mother to a mining accident before bumping into my mother and father in their travels. They took her in first, and me shortly after.

"How's Adrianne today?" I asked my sister, curious as to what she had been taught today.

"Amazing!" she returned, her smile brightening, "We've been working with some scrap dwarven parts all morning! We brought them from a trader who came early to the market, and we just finished melting them down into molds and-" as much as I loved my sister, and her passion for creation, I couldn't help but tune out sometimes when she rambled on. This time was different, however, because I lost my focus on her for a different reason.

"Why are mother and father in their Imperial armor?" I said, my eyes drifting over to the road coming from the main gates. Erith stopped moving her arm in what appeared to be a stabbing position, and turned to see that our parents were indeed covered in red cloth and shining steel. They walked side by side through the market district, closed helmets locked under their arms as they walked, turning heads and causing whispers. The smiles that dawned on their faces from this morning were replaced with my father's features, and my mother held an expression she only wore when she was about to gut one of her foes.

I stepped into the crowd and fell in line beside them, hearing Erith do the same.

"What's going on?" I asked up to my mother, who turned with an open mouth, but was cut off by my father's sharp voice.

"Not now girls," he nearly yelled, causing the air around him to vibrate with the power of his shouts, "important and classified Imperial business." his voice was cold, and he didn't even glance back at us as he trudged up the stone steps, heading for Dragonsreach.

"Woah now," cried Erith from beside me, "that's not the tone you take up with your daughters!" This made our father stop, and he turned to us with piercing eyes that were glowing with embers. He didn't say anything, but I could see the flames in his pupils begin to burn down slightly. Eventually, he closed them and sighed to himself.

"You really want to know what's going on?" his tone softened, and he smiled a bit. When he opened his eyes again, he looked us over with pride. Pride in his daughters, who he had raised to be natural fighters as he and our mother was. Pride with us for not only achieving the height of our skills, but developing new, unique ones as well. Pride in his children, whom he would never have even considered adopted to him anymore.

"Yes," I said sternly, not breaking our new found eye contact. His eyes crinkled a bit as his smile grew.

"Then follow me," he said, "we're going to see the Jarl."

—

**A.N.: Hey folks! for those of you that find this story familiar, that's because it is! This is a story I had previously started and never finished, that I ended up taking down because I didn't want to leave anyone else reading a dozen chapters then waiting in suspense for what came next. So why upload it now you might ask? Well, I may have...**

**_Finished the story._**

**But before you go screaming for joy, I don't plan to upload the entire story at once. I want to upload each chapter on a schedule, that way it gives a better chance for people to find and enjoy this story that, hopefully, gets as much love as the last time I tried to publish it.**

**Don't forget to follow so you know when each new chapter gets uploaded, and leave a review on what tasty news you think the Jarl has in store...**


	2. Chapter 2

The beauty that the palace of Dragonsreach contained was mesmerizing. I had only been here one other time, when my parents had died. I had come here to receive word from Jarl Balgruuf that I was being sent to Honorhall, and at the time I was too gloomy and depressed to really appreciate the beauty of the design in the throne room. The birchwood rafters practically glowed from the great hearth in the center of the room, flanked by two long tables, filled with food and drink that could probably feed the entire city. Servants and Housecarls sat at these tables, eating and chatting with each other cheerily.

I caught sight of the court wizard in the room past the rightward table, seeing him bent over his alchemy table, grinding something in his mortar. When he finished, he dumped it into a small boiling pot that sat at the head of the table, and it blew out a giant puff of blue smoke, causing the wizard to fall into a large coughing fit. Nobody at the tables turned to see if he was alright, so I assumed these types of things were a common occurrence in the house of the Jarl. Speaking of the Jarl, when I turned to look at the throne as I prepared to bow, no-one was in the throne, nor around it.

My father, flanked by my mother, continued up the steps and abruptly made a right, nearly shoving me over the railing and into a bowl of cabbage potato soup. I cursed under my breath, but continued to follow behind my parents, closer now with my sister rather than my mother, to avoid another deadly hip-checking.

"What do you think's going on?" Erith whispered to me, leaning closer.

"I'm not sure," I mumbled back to her, "something to do with combat, most likely." I could only assume, seeing as they were dressed in armour, and the only thing at the top of the steps behind the throne room was the war room. That, and the dragon-capturing chamber, but I highly doubt my father was coming to interrogate another giant lizard at this point in his life.

Sure enough, when we reached the top of the stairs, the large table with a map outlining Skyrim laid across it, was surrounded by the Jarl and some of his Imperial men. I recognized a few; a graying Idolaf Battle-Born, the father of Lars. A few stray blonde hairs peeked out from his silver mane, but for the most part he was considered the new patron of the Battle-Born's, given his years of service and the recent passing of his father. His brother, Jon, was also present and dressed in slanted Legate armor. His eyes remained focused on the parchment in front of him, and I giggled to myself, knowing he was trying to mentally sober up as fast as possible in the presence of Jarl Frothar.

The Jarl sat at the head of the table, flanked by his brother Nelkir, who served him as his Housecarl. Nelkir's eyes wander to us as we enter, and he lays his hand carefully on his sword when he sees us come up. He moves from his brother's side and stands before us, beside the steps, when we reach the top.

"Jarl Frothar summoned Legate's in the city only," he speaks roughly, wrapping his hand around the hilt of the sheathed dwarven blade, "Your daughters will have to leave."

My father smirked, "These two are freshly trained legionaries," he began, "I can vouch for them." my brows furrowed at his words. Erith and I aren't legionnaires? Was all I could think. Nelkir nodded, as if thinking, before Frothar spoke up.

"Just let them by brother," he shot to his sibling, making him back away, "we haven't got all day to prepare the Hold." Nelkir gestured for us to pass, as we did. My father took his place opposite the Jarl, and the rest of us squeezed on the longer end of the table, opposite the Battle-Born brothers.

"Now then," said Jarl Frothar, breaking the silence, "we have received word that Thalmor ships have been seen along the coast of Hammerfell and High Rock, a well as near the port of Solitude." he pauses to look at all of us before continuing.

"Reports also say that more ships continue along the coast," he says, skimming through the parchment in front of him, which must be the report, "and some witnesses from the other provinces say that some ships have docked and taken hostile action." My body tensed, as my childhood fear burned inside me. The Thalmor were coming back, and they were starting their conquest for Tamriel yet again.

"Queen Elisif says that she received word from the Emperor to threaten the ambassadors to suspend the White-Gold concordat, should they not pull back or state their purposes. The Thalmor have not yet responded, though we have been notified to be on guard, as Elenwen has gone dark." he examined us each individually, before turning to my father, glancing between him and Idolaf.

"Elisif has asked that you both take all the extra men from the hold and proceed north, ready in case the ships move landward," he paused, and addressed my mother and Jon, "and you two are to continue the training of the men, and monitor body counts for the city and the villages in the region." he paused once more, before nodding to us all, "You're dismissed."

Jarl Frothar and Nelkir stood at attention first, and proceeded down the stone steps we'd just emerged from, while the rest of us eyed each other with nervous, uneasy expressions.

"We need to prepare," spoke Idolaf, addressing my father, who was already on his way to walk beside him. My sister and I followed behind him, questions rattling my brain. My father went to reply to Idolaf, but I snapped quietly in his ear.

"Why did you tell Frothar we were with the Legion?!" I muttered fiercely next to my father, who turned abruptly.

"Well," he began, "your mother has already given you both the basic training, so technically you are." This made me stop. I had always thought that this type of training was just a mother daughter thing that she did for Erith and I, or just so we could take care of ourselves if we ever wanted to survive in Skyrim. Was it all just to form us, so we could follow in our parents' footsteps?

I felt like such a fool.

If that wasn't enough, my father continued. "We were going to propose the matter of joining the Legion to you later next week," he spoke, a bit more shyly than normally, "we wanted to let you have today as one last day of freedom."

"I can't," I snapped, fumbling for an explanation, reaching out for excuses, "I can't leave Mila, she needs someone."

"Mila's a big girl," my mother spoke from behind me, "she can manage herself."

"It's not about that!" I turned towards my mother and my sister, pleading for someone to be on my side, "her husband just left on Legion work, she can't have her only two friends leaving, too." I turned towards Erith, "Tell them!"

Erith turned from me sheepishly, rubbing her arm like she does wherever she feels guilty. My throat tightened slightly when she did this, and I felt my eyes strain as they widened with fear and anger.

"I've already decided, Braith," she said, still not meeting my gaze, "I'm joining up." Silence consumed the stairwell that we stood in. I could feel Idolaf and my fathers' eyes on the back of my head. My mother was gazing at my shoulder, not meeting my eyes, and my sister looked as if she was going to break down and sob. I spun around, stomping down the remainder of the stone steps, my metal armor clanging against the rocks. I nearly had to shove Idolaf out of my way, but at the last second he stepped out of my way.

"Braith!" my father nearly yelled at me, which made me even more angry. I turned to him with embers in my eyes and I screamed at him.

"Fus!" I cried out, putting all the anger in my shout. It glided across the side of the throne room, and I heard Nikar off to my left drawing his sword from its sheath. Idolaf wavered slightly, but my father withstood it, wincing slightly from the force shoving him back. The lack of effect on him angered me even more, and I stomped away from the crowd that had now turned, with all eyes on me.

I sat at the foot of Mila and Lars' bed, cross legged and staring angrily at their glass window. Mila was sitting near the head, just watching me, taking in this news. I expected her to join me in mouthing about my family, and how they kept this from me until now. I felt like cattle, trained and raised for a purpose; the purpose of joining the army and fighting alongside my parents. Basically what the Battle-Born's stood for, raised to keep up their legacy. Only, at least they knew they were being raised for that, whereas I didn't.

Mila's expression was calculating, not entirely upset. She may have only become a simple shop owner, but she was in no way unreasonable or stupid. She examined me as if I was a new kind of species of bird that she had just discovered, not knowing what to make of me. I came here hoping that she would agree with me, so seeing her looking to give me some helpful words only made me angrier.

"Am I the only reason for you staying?" she spoke, which surprised me. I hadn't thought that to be her first question, but it did get me thinking for a minute or two.

"No," I began, knowing if I said yes she would just try to convince me she would be fine, "I love the market, the people are lovely-"

"Do you love staring at your old house every day?" I just stared at her, speechless. Nobody often addressed my deceased family, and I never liked to think about it. I didn't know Mila that well, so having her blurt out such a question was almost offensive, but since she was the spouse of Lars, I bit my tongue.

My silence was enough for her, "I know I don't leave the city much, so I'm not really someone to ask about the outside world," she spoke to me, a warm smile on her face as she looked at me, "but you have the skills, you can make it in the harshness of Skyrim."

There was a long pause as I analyzed her. Her face showed no signs of stress or loathing. She was legitimately convinced that I should join the legion, and her sureness of the entire situation easier for me to map out.

"Besides," she broke the silence, snapping me into attention, "you can make sure Lars doesn't hurt himself when he's out in the field." we both took to giggling, feeling good to smile for the first time after the entire thing. I took the hand of Mila and looked her in the eye, smiling. She squeezed my hand as I spoke.

"Thank you, Mi" I said, standing from her bed and hugging her when she stood with me. We talked for a bit, saying our goodbyes before I stepped out from the Battle-Born home, still avoiding the gazes of Idolaf and Jon. I sighed as I leaned against the doorway once I was outside, gazing over at my childhood home just down the road, before the bridge. It was dusk, and the lights glowed in the slight darkness that loomed over the streetsides. All I could do was smile, hoping my birth parents rested easy with my newfound decision.

I made my way down the steps towards the forge. Embers still simmered in the rounded forge, strapped against the shop. All the tools and goods were brought in for the night, and I watched as the light in the room above the shop begin to dim. I turned at the forge and moved towards my home, watching the sun finally set.

When I walked into my home, my family was all at the table, eating the remnants of their late night supper. They all turned to the doorway to see me, my father hiding about half a potato in his cheek. My mother and sister both watched me, as I closed the door behind me and smiled shyly.

"I'll join the Legion," I said.


	3. Chapter 3

The heavy armour of my mother's was terribly over-encumbering, and I cringed when I began to kneel against its weight. I knew five minutes in the field with this on and I'd be heaving. I struggled to bring the plate back over my head and off, with the assistance of Erith, who had decided she preferred the lighter variant of armour.

"Maybe you could try medium protection," Erith said, looking me over as I ripped off the boots, "or at least the chestpiece for it."

I sighed, heaving the rest of the armor to the side, "Sure," I began, "but let's do more fitting later, I'm exhausted." my sister only nodded.

I turn to the exit of the room my sister and I have shared since we were taken in. It was small, but it was our home. Our beds lay across from each other, pressed against opposite walls, and the doorway lay in the middle of them both. They lead into the dining area, and lay underneath the stairway up to the spare bedroom and my parents' room. My mother and father were out currently, seeing to the tasks the Jarl had given them all.

Lars was returning to Whiterun today, very early at the request of the Jarl, as he turned over all the extra troops to Idolaf and my father. They had already decided that my sister and I would fall under the direct command of our father, along with half of the recruits that came with Lars, and Lars himself. The rest of our companies, we would meet when we proceeded to Solitude.

The dining area was still dark, as the central hearth remained unlit and the morning sun was barely risen in the sky, causing little light to emit through the glass frames of Breezehome. I carefully felt my way towards the door, keeping awareness of where everything was in the house. I felt my way against the wall, stepping farther away as to not run into the wood pile we had stacked against the eastern wall. When I finally stretched my hand in front of me and grabbed at the door, I knelt down and took my boots in hand. Slipping them on one at a time, I heard a clang off towards my room.

"Oh, for Talos sake!" cursed Erith, "Why do we even keep the cauldrons here?" I suppressed a laugh, as she continued to grumble as she did her best to gather the mess she had made in the now slightly illuminated home. She caught on, however, and shot me a long glare, before stacking one of the pots in an open mouth of another. I managed to slip my boots on fully, and stand back up again. Gripping the door handle, I flung it open and let more light flush in. I squinted at the morning sun as my eyes began to adjust, and felt the humm against my ears of the chatter coming from the market district.

I cocked my head sideways, towards the Bannered Mare, only to see a crowd formed in a circular motion at the mouth of the central hub. I furrowed my eyebrows, as I slowly marched towards the scene. Old lady Ysolda apparently noticed the commotion too, as she was coming drearily from her home as well, coming to walk beside me at a slow, steady pace.

"What's going on this early?" she asked, turning to look at me. I only shrugged in response, narrowing my eyes at the inn that everyone was surrounding. We grew closer and I began hearing the murmurs of the crowd.

"The Stormcloaks maybe? Or-"

"No, no, it was just bandits!"

"Probably just kids, they're always-"

I felt the air leave my lungs when I pushed my way through the crowd, finally getting sight of what everyone was muttering about. The market was in absolute shambles; Mila's market stall was destroyed, the wood butchered and broken, the beams on the general store and the herbalist shop were all broken in halves, wood shards lying at their feet. And worst of all, carved ruthlessly in the side of the Bannered Mare read "Imperial Scum!" and "They let them in!" I covered my mouth as I took in these sights of destruction and defilement of my hometown. Who would dare do such a thing? I heard Ysolda beside me let out a silent sob, no doubt for her inn that had been graffitied in such a horrendous way.

"What in Oblivion…" I heard a voice beside me that belonged to Erith. The crowd hummed with whispers and murmurs, every pair of eyes dashing from one piece of destruction to the next. The volume increased from the direction of Jorrvaskr, and I turned to see the people of Whiterun parting for a group of guards. Leading this group of guards was Jon and my mother, both looking quite miffed from all the talk of this destruction of property. The group of soldiers stopped near the center of the market, each examining the destruction independently. Jon focused mostly on the inn, no doubt heartbroken that his main home of social drinking now appeared butchered.

"Back to your homes!" cried my mother's most authoritarian voice she could muster, "The Whiterun guard will deal with this matter!"

The crowd began to scatter, piece by piece. Erith and I remained behind, along with Ysolda and Mila, who were both gawking at their businesses, despite the attempts from the guards to move them along.

"Leave them," spoke Jon, turning between the two women, "let them mourn." he said grimly, as if the wood beams were all once men and women, slaughtered by the people that caused this destruction. I approached my mother, hearing the hurried steps of my sister behind me. As we approached her, her grim expressions fell over us.

"Why did they do this?" I asked, anxiety seeping from my voice. I hadn't seen such terror in this city since the battle that went on here, where my father fought back the Stormcloak rebels, alongside his best friend, Hadvar, and my mother. Based on her expression, she was thinking the same things.

"Word has gotten out about the Thalmor's attacks," she began, monotone through and through, "some people are getting angry with the Imperial Legion for letting them into Skyrim."

I nearly scoffed at the thought of it all. "We saved more lives signing that treaty than we would have if we continued," I spat at her, despite it not being her fault, I was angry, "besides, we don't even know if it's offensive or not."

"Actually," said a voice behind me, "We received word on the road they've landed on the coast of Solitude." I turned towards the masculine tone behind me, only to be faced directly at Lars and his company of fresh new recruits. I had to suppress my reddened face, he was so close to me I could almost hear him breathing.

"They've what?" my mother sounded terrified, which was completely taboo in my home, let alone at news of an enemy. When I glanced at her, she had gone an entire shade paler, which gave me a bit more regret for joining the Legion than I had already had when I found out I couldn't carry my heavy Imperial Armour.

Lars continued with his story, "They currently control both Northwatch Keep and Fort Hraggstad," he said, a chill in his voice, "Elisif has been evacuated, and is on the road to Markarth. We believe the Thalmor are planning a land and sea attack on Solitude." Judging by his fierce tone and his stern expression, he had already come to terms with this reality, and was making every plan from A to Z. Lars only wavered when he glanced at Mila, kneeling at her broken stall.

"Excellent," my mother said almost sarcastically, "thank you for this information Tribune, you're dismissed." Lydia continued from here over towards Jon, no doubt to discuss the new information she had received and send him towards Idolaf and my father, to relay the message. I caught Lars out of the corner of my eye, leaning over Mila with a hand on her back. She had started sobbing by now, and leaned into his arms. I turned away, towards Lars' company, as to give them some privacy and avoid developing a pit in my stomach.

The only member of the company who really caught my attention was the blonde girl, who held the attire that my sister usually dawned. The Quartermaster was apart from the group, skimming over the market district with distress. Her gear and attire gleamed of the Imperial's red and black uniform, leading me to believe she hadn't done any work recently in their travels. She appeared as the usual blacksmith with an extra flask hooked to her belt, which made me furrow my eyebrows slightly with curiosity. I approached her, curious by how she held herself, and wondering if she perhaps wanted some better company than the group of men in a circle, giggling to themselves and punching each other in the arm.

"Hey there," I said, smirking at her and trying to seem confident as I stepped, "So you're the Quartermaster?"

She smiled at me. "Yes," she said with a sweet voice, that threw me off given her profession, "I'm Dorthe, the Quartermaster of Legate Lars' company."

I was taken aback, "Legate?" I asked.

"Yes," she continued, "He was recently promoted to Legate. All his old comrades, save me, went to the front lines, while he trained these recruits."

"He's training them?" I did my best to appear worried, but I was more laughing, imagining an awkward little man trying to direct a group of rowdy Auxiliary's. The thought made me giggle profusely, which Dorthe seemed to notice, and tried and failed repressing a smile in response. There was a long pause when the laughter died down, so I began wondering a bit about this girl.

"So you must be from around these parts?" I asked, assuming since Lars was to round up the locals, despite her being trained already.

She nodded, "My family is from Riverwood," she said, "I was my father's' apprentice for years before I joined up, so I could serve with my cousin Hadvar."

I gaped at her. "You're Hadvar's cousin?" I couldn't suppress my glee, "He's amazing! I heard so many amazing stories about him from my parents when they served with him!"

Dorthe smiled, "And who are you, and your family?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, which made her rounded face a bit more cute. I blushed slightly, embarrassed as I realized I forgot to introduce myself.

"I'm Braith," I said, huffing my chest as to show more of my strength, "my father is known mostly as the Dovahkiin, and my mother is Lydia, the captain of the Whiterun Guard."

Dorthe nodded, but looked mildly confused, "But you appear more Redguard to me," she said, "The Dovahkiin is a Nord, and your mother an Imperial."

My stomach dropped. Here I was, barely knowing this girl, and we were already discussing my deceased parents. Though it was already common knowledge, I still had trouble opening that part of my life up to strangers.

"My… My real parents were killed during the Battle of Whiterun," I said grimly, "during the years of the Stormcloaks." I remembered back to the day, my face dropping to the rocks at my feet.

It was a regular day; the market was bustling, the sky was vibrant with a blue backsplash and white clouds, only this time my mother and father were feuding again. About what this time, I don't remember. Probably having something to do with my father wanting me to adventure, something I inherited from him, but either way my mother had decided to take it out of me when he'd had enough.

I had been asking about Lars again, as I had tried to do so many times before with no success. My mother only took it as an annoyance, and harassed me to be off, so that's what I did. I stormed off, simply deciding I should tell Lars how I felt. At this point we had already kissed, though it was by some foolish act. I had threatened to beat him up, but when he pulled out his septims for me, I told him to kiss me instead. He did, though it was just a peck, and when he pulled away he looked terrified of me. I assumed it was because I had threatened him, and did my best to hide the flush in my cheeks with a devilish laugh, and a cocky grin.

I assumed wrong however, because I realized what had terrified him when he pointed to the sky, and I turned to see a flaming rock tumbling down from the sky. I remember screaming, and Lars taking my hand and dragging me into the Bannered Mare, which we had been hiding behind during the entire process. Hulda, who was the innkeeper at the time, has moved every guest down into the cellar, where they stored all the food and mead, and hunkered us down until help arrived. Lars tried dragging me to the ladder, but I struggled against him, claiming that I needed to be with my family. He tried telling me they were already safe but I wouldn't have it. I ripped my arm away from him and ran. I ran as fast as my feet would take me.

"I…" said a voice in front of me, "I'm so sorry." Dorthe knocked me out of my trance, which she had clearly noticed I was in. She was looking at me as everyone had before, with a look of concern and sympathy. Only there was something else; understanding. I wanted to persist more, but a ruckus on my left brought me out of my conversation with the quartermaster.

Lars, along with the other guards, were standing at attention, as I gazed to see my father and Idolaf marching down from Jorrvaskr, Idolaf tossing an empty flask of mead off into the bushes. My father appeared stern, and was flanked by my mother, who looked as concerned as Dorthe had for me a moment ago.

"Orders, sir?" Lars asked, as our fathers approached him. He had since eased them, and Lars was standing loosely and casually as he always had, out of habit. Mila was nowhere to be seen, so I assumed she had gone back home to the Battle-Born manor.

My father huffed. "We are to remain here," he began, emphasizing every word with frustration, "and continue to train the troops." Clearly he didn't enjoy these orders, but he always did as he was told, without question, from his superiors in the Legion. His arms were crossed and his brows furrowed. He was not in a good mood at all. He took Lars by the shoulder, and walked him over towards us, giving Idolaf the signal to return to his duties. My mother and Erith followed behind him, and surrounded Lars' company. When everyone was huddled in a circle, I smirked at my father, when his words lifted me in a way that didn't make my new Imperial Chestpiece sitting at home feel as heavy anymore.

"Prepare yourselves lads," my father said, a determined grin on his face, "We leave in three days, at dawn."


	4. Chapter 4

The few days leading up to our departure flew by with extreme fits of anxiety from yours truly. I had never killed a living being before, and here I am about to go to war against an entire race-based faction, and expected to kill them all without question. What about their families? I know how mine would react to my death, and I didn't want to imagine causing that sort of pain to another family, let alone a single living thing. Those days I spent in training were the worst, while my hands shook while they held Amren's sword, and my blocks and jabs were all sloppy and easily countered by Erith.

I knew how the Thalmor were, and I knew how they wouldn't hesitate to gut me like a fresh goat at dinner time, but it still bothered me; the sight of blood, the dreams I have where I only imagine the sight of light dying from a person's eyes. What if I watched Lars die? Or Erith? Or my own parents?

"Hey Braith," my sister spoke up, as she parried another easy strike from me, "ever hear the stories about how girls who go into the legion and get captured get raped?" I was about to strike harder, not wanting to even think about such a disgusting thing; but I saw the fear in Erith's eyes. She was just as scared as I was.

I dropped my sword, letting it clang against the stone at our feet. She too let her sword fall at her side, and followed my lead as we took each other tightly in our arms. I felt her dive into my shoulder, and suppress her sobs so that the neighbors wouldn't hear. This entire time, I was only worried about myself and if I was strong enough for war, and here I was forgetting about the people around me. Mila was losing everyone, too, to the war front. She would have to sit there silently, watching us leave, not knowing if we would return. It would gnaw at her until the day we did. Jon was drinking more and more now, wanting to get it all in before he had to leave his wife and fight for his life against the Empire's oldest enemy. This war was having a toll on all of us, in it's own horrible little way.

We separated ourselves from each other's bonding moment when we heard footsteps from behind us. I turned, with Erith looking over my shoulder, to see a young blonde haired maiden, dressed in a lighter imperial armor, with both her bright blue eyes and her thin lips smiling at us.

"It's so nice," Dorthe began, stopping in front of us, "seeing compassion in this harsh province. You'll need that on the road."

My stomach churned at the thought of going out there, especially after the conversation I'd just had with my sister. I tried my best to force a smile, which wasn't hard given the positive vibes that I got from Dorthe whenever she was around, but it was still difficult to hide the gnawing ache in my chest about the war to come.

"What do you need?" I addressed to her, giving her a friendly smile as I knelt down to pick up my blade and sheath it. I felt Erith come up beside me and brush against my arm. I turned to her, to see that she had an amused look dawning on her face. I noted that in my mind, knowing how to speak with her about it another time, and for now turned back to see Dorthe in thought.

"There was something…" she began, before a smile pierced her cheeks and she looked at me with stars in her eyes, "Oh yes! I was wondering if you'd show me around the city," her face grew a bit sheepish, before she averted my gaze and aimed it to the ground at my feet, "I mean, I've never been before, if it's not too much trouble, you know; I've only heard stories of the city from my father and-"

"She would love to!" spoke Erith, rather loudly, before marching off past Dorthe, giving us a wave, "I'm going to see if Adrianne needs help polishing the armours. Toodaloo!" I watched as my sister turned and practically strutted in the general direction of the forge, my eyes narrowed with curiosity. She was playing at something, and I wasn't sure I enjoyed being in the pitch dark of her plans. Nevertheless, I gestured for Dorthe to follow me.

We were practicing out behind the market district, a rather abandoned part of the city, as it was mostly for the poorer residents of the city. I explained that to her before I moved in the pre-repaired market district. The beams of Belethor's and Arcadia's shops were newly replaced, but had yet to be varnished and repolished, and the stalls had all been newly rebuilt. I shot Mila a quick smile at her stall, which she quietly returned, before going towards another customer of hers.

"So this is the main attraction of the plains district," I said, gesturing to the market area around me, "it also takes up the areas from here to the gate, but this is where most people go," I aim my leftward hand down the road towards the gates, to make my point. We continue on up the steps, and when we hit the top I gesture towards the longhouse on my right.

"That's Jorrvaskr, I'm sure you've heard of it," I said, before she crossed in front of me, beaming at the building.

"My mother always told me bedtime stories about the companions," she said, turning to me with stars in her eyes,"is it true your father fought alongside them for a time?"

I blushed slightly, "Yes, he is to this day a companion," I say, letting my eyes linger on the mead hall for a time, as Dorthe moves from my eyesight. I could see my father's old steel shield, lining the brim of the rooftop amongst the rest of the first shields of the companions. It was a true honor to have a father that was as brave as he.

"And this must be the main housing portion of the city?" I heard Dorthe speak from behind, making me turn towards the many homes. I caught sight of the family from the other day, standing outside of my childhood home, and my breath hitched. The memories flooded back to me as if they never left, despite my urges to push them out.

I remember running, I remember Lars screaming, and I remember storming out of the Bannered Mare, and into a hell that I could never unsee. Stormcloaks had already entered the city, and the Imperials were losing ground. I ran up the steps leading to the Wind District, to my home, only to find my route cut off by some of the soldiers, who looked devilishly at me from the cover of their helms. One reached to grab me, before his hand was sliced off by an Imperial Soldier, and he quickly gutted them both and shoved them from my way; a memory that still haunts me today.

The soldier - who I now knew to be Hadvar - took my hand and gestured for me to follow him. He began taking me towards Dragonsreach, despite my struggles and the pursuing enemy soldiers. My hand being small, and his covered in sweat, I ripped it from his grip and ran back towards my home. The area was now flooding with Stormcloak soldiers, and I lost Hadvar's screams for me in the sea of clanging steel and blood curdling screams. I made it to my home and stormed in to see the most horrific sight of that day.

Before me lay my father's rotting body, soaked in a pool of blood, with his sword lying beside his body. I glanced upward, to see two Stormcloak soldiers facing a Nord, dressed in Imperial Armor, standing over my mother's newly deceased body, sword drawn and bloodied from his battle, against fresh, shining Stormcloak steel. A few Stormcloak soldiers littered the ground as well, but I paid them no attention.

"Never did I think I would face the Dovahkiin," said one of the soldiers, approaching him with his shining steel blade drawn. The Dovahkiin held his sword firmly against them, ready to strike.

"A shame," he said, "that two young men had to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time." He made a few glances at me, peering between the two men he stood against, but not long enough for them to notice he was distracted. One struck at him, but he parried the blade. The second soldier moved in and sliced at his calf, making him howl in pain as he fell. Both soldiers stood, laughing at him. The Dovahkiin made a shout to one of the soldiers, throwing him back, before the other sent a fist to his jaw, and sent him to the floor. His sword was held weakly in his hand, and sweat beaded down his thick brown beard.

I hadn't remembered much of what happened between then, simply that I had picked up my father's sword at some point, and literally ran it through the soldier the Dovahkiin had shouted back into the wall. While the other soldier became distracted by this, my adopted father swung his blade through his gut, and watched as he tried to stop the blood seeping from his stomach, before collapsing to the ground along with the rest of his companions.

The Dovahkiin limped over to me, a young girl crying, clutching the sword that my father had failed to use to defend himself and his wife. I just kept staring at it, before the presence of an arm around my shoulders pulled my gaze away, and up to him.

"You're safe now, youngling," he said, moving for us to rest on the back wall, "Everything will be okay, I swear."

Eventually, the Imperials pushed the Stormcloaks back out of the city when reinforcements arrived at the battlements, and we sandwiched the rest of the survivors in the city and into the prison. The day was won for us, but at a personal cost for me.

"Hello?" spoke Dorthe, who was now directly in front of me, snapping me from my daze, "Are you alright?"

I backed away, hiding the redness in my face from the embarrassment of my relapse, "Sorry," I spoke, "It's just that… That's my birth parents' old home." I could feel my face contort into that of sadness when I spoke, and I turned away from Dorthe as a few tears slipped down my cheeks. The tension in the air grew, and I could feel her gawking silence behind me, as she tried to figure out what to do. Eventually, she took my by the shoulders and spun me around to face her. Her blue eyes shawn, and I could see my pooling brown eyes in hers; that's what broke me.

I was in her arms before I knew what was happening. A sob came from the depths of my throat, and it came out practically as a scream. My eyes pressed into her shoulder, soaking the Imperial leathers that she wore, though she didn't seem to care, as the arms around my back held me tighter. Despite the sweating leathers and the worn red linens she wore, she smelled intensely of Lavender, a scent that always helped calm me down as a child. I made to step away from her, though before I could fully escape, she took me by the shoulders again. Her eyes had also drawn a few tears, though not many.

"I'm always here for you," she spoke, with a new confidence emitting from her voice, "Nobody should have to go through the death of their parents, and I'm so sorry, so I'll be your rock whenever you need me." My chest grew warm, and my tears faltered and ceased. I gaped at her, as her hands slipped from my shoulders, and I nodded to her in understanding.

"Thank you, Dorthe," I said, finally managing a smile, as I wiped the remainder of the tears from my eyes, "That's Dragonsreach, by the way." I continued, mild laughter in my tone. Dorthe turned, and gaped for a moment at the tall home of the Jarl and his family. Once she finished gawking at the masterpiece of architecture, she looked back at me, took my hand and dragged me back towards the market district.

"Come on to the Bannered Mare," she said, smiling, making her blue eyes glow in the sunlight, "drinks on me!" And in that moment, I honestly felt like everything was going to be okay from here.

Too bad they wouldn't be.

**A/N:**

Hey! So you may have noticed my absence up until now. Due to the virus my workload actually increased. Weird how that works, but now I have enough time to dive back in to this project. I will be uploading a new chapter every Sunday, so be sure to check in for the next chapter then!


	5. Chapter 5

It was just past midday when Dorthe and I marched up the steps to the Bannered Mare. Mila now flanked us as well, having time to take a bit of a lunch break with us before returning to her lonely stall keeper career. I walked behind them both, while Mila and Dorthe spoke with hushed tones, no doubt about the men back at the stall that she had just finished serving.

"I mean, honestly," Mila spat her words, whispering, "I'm a married woman! My husband is a Legionnaire! You think they would have some respect."

Dorthe only smirked in retort, "No men have respect," she began, "you should see the way the men in my company look at me - like a piece of meat!" There was a long pause before she continued, seeing Mila's concerned expression, "Lars though, he treats me like an actual person, which is the only reason I agreed to join his company."

Mila nodded, smiling again, "I was always wondering why you didn't request to join with your cousin's company."

"Yeah," spoke Dorthe, sheepishly, "none of his men would respect me. One even bent me over a table in Riverwood's inn one time and-"

Dorthe was cut off from her very graphical story when two imperial guards burst from the doorway to the tavern in front of us, clutching a elderly, dark redguard woman between them. She appeared to be struggling, and she was gagged and chained. Muffled cries came from her mouth, and she appeared very hostile to everyone around her. When the soldiers moved past us and up towards Dragonsreach, most of the crowd in the marketplace followed them with their eyes, before returning to their everyday routine. My father emerged from the hole in the wall that the soldiers just came from, eyeing the path to Dragonsreach passively. He saw the expressions we all wore, and began to explain himself.

"Her name is Saadia," he began, as if we didn't already know the inhabitants of the city, "she was just convicted of petty thievery."

I furrowed my brows, "The husband to the captain of the watch wouldn't be the one coming to monitor an arrest to petty thievery."

My father sighed, and turned towards Dorthe, "I trust Braith and Mila, but I don't know you," he eyed Mila and I, "can I trust her?"

I nearly swatted at my father, shaking my head "of course you can," I said bitterly, "she is with us, after all."

He paused, taking his time. A time in which my frustration with the old man only grew. I nearly snapped at him when he began speaking, finally.

"When you were all still young, I discovered she had surrendered information to the Thalmor during their campaign in Hammerfell," he began, "Hulda begged me to cover it all up when I confronted her with the information, and after your mother persuaded me a bit as well - she was always sympathetic about the people of Whiterun - I did, and she helped me pay for our lovely Breezehome," he said, a sinister smirk crossing his face, which gave me chills.

"However," he started again, "given the current situation, I cannot allow her to spread any information to them again, so I'll have her imprisoned until we push back the Dominion, and I'll drop the charges on her."

I was infuriated. My father was playing dirty soldier, after all the years I thought him honorable, here he was telling me how he threatened an old tavern keeper out of her coin just to keep her employee from a death sentence, instead of just doing the right thing like he always did. Then again, what was the right thing to do? Not even that, but my mother knew about this as well. My face grew red, and I shoved my father aside. He didn't seem at all surprised with my frustration, and kept himself aside from the door so Mila and Dorthe, both looking equally as shocked, could enter. I stood beside the door, ready to close it, when my father peeked his head at me.

"Don't forget we leave in the morni-" I slammed the door in his smug face before he could finish. No, I wasn't going to forget that I was off to war in the morning, and I surely didn't need his voice travelling and reminding Mila that all her friends and her husband were marching off north either. I stepped loudly over to the bar stools, where the two of them sat, along with Lars, and a few men of his company. Most stools were taken when we arrived, so Mila just leaned against the bar, resting one of her legs against the lowest step on Lars' stool. The closeness made me slightly uncomfortable, which was terrible since the last remaining stool was between Lars and Dorthe, no doubt Mila thoughtfully saved it for me.

"I'll have a Black-Briar," spoke Dorthe, raising her hand with a smile, to which Ysolda nodded grimly, though trying to manage a smile.

"Did you see the barmaid get dragged out?" spoke Lars, turning to all of us, "apparently she was stealing coin from the Bannered Mare for years."

I shook my head, trying to sound convincing, "That's awful!" I put my best effort into a gasp, to which Lars raised an awkward eyebrow. I never gasped, and apparently I was a terrible liar. Dorthe covered this up when she threw an arm around me, making me redden.

"I heard she was stealing more than coin," Dorthe said slyly, "if you get my meaning Lars," she sent him a wink, causing Lars to grow as red as I and turn back to his drink. Mila giggled a bit, before resting her arms on his shoulder closest to him. This made him drop the subject, and I made a mental note to give Dorthe a crisp high five later for saving me.

"I'll take a Dragon's Breath," I spoke to Ysolda, who nodded as she placed a bottle of mead in front of Dorthe, who picked it up with a gleam in her eye. Now that I glanced past her, all the soldiers were gulping down their drinks with haste. I assumed alcohol wasn't permitted in the field, which was expected and understandable. When I turned to my right, Lars was only sipping at his, and having hushed conversations with Mila.

When my drink arrived, I turned to Dorthe with a smile, "Cheers," I spoke, tapping my bottle against hers, and we both shot our glasses back and drank like men. The alcohol burned at my throat as it flowed down, as if I was actually breathing dragon's fire, and I had to collect myself quickly, or risk gagging the liquid back up. I wasn't much of a drinker, but I assumed Dorthe was when she slammed her bottle down and let out a belch, that silenced and froze everyone at the bar. A few men of the company howled with laughter, and the one next to her just gaped.

"Ahem," Lars cleared his throat loudly, standing as everyone faced him, "I have an announcement for everyone!" he roared. People at the hearth also turned, which now that I glanced around, included my mother and some of her friends from the Jarl's palace. I turned back to Lars, who now clutched Mila closely to him.

"We, uh, would just like to let everyone know…" Lars looked a bit awkward as he spoke, so Mila stood forward and cut in, speaking louder than he.

"I'm pregnant!" She screamed through the hall, now raising a cup that I realized was just full of water; or so I hoped. My stomach dropped slightly like a rock in a pit, as everyone around me roared, I put up the act with a weak smile and a raised bottle. As if marriage didn't drag Lars farther away from me, now Mila would bear his child, and that was all the more distance between us. I shot my bottle back before the others were finished cheering, and ignored the pain from the burning of the liquid.

I slammed the empty bottle down, feeling my head lighten as the cheers emitted around me. I could see Mila and Lars kissing out of the corner of my eye, and I saw opposite that, the men of his company were all cheering along with Dorthe. I turned back to Ysolda, who was beaming at the young lovers. My request got her attention.

"Mead with Juniper Berries," I spoke with a slur, "and a shot of Skooma." Ysolda looked taken aback by the request, to which I just rolled my eyes.

"I know you have some Ysolda," I said, drolly, "Please." I pulled forty septims from my pocket, that I'd nicked from the fireplace at home where my father kept his extra coin, and slipped them across the counter. Ysolda took them from the countertop, and proceeded into the back, as to avoid the prying eyes. of so many drunken legionnaires. I felt a palm touch my back, and I turned to see the concerned visage of Dorthe looking down at me, holding a half empty bottle.

"I'm sorry," she said with a hush, just enough for me to hear. The look she gave me startled my nerves. She knew about my feelings, that much was sure, and I'm certain that my beverage request that she no doubt overheard only solidified the suspicions that crept into her mind. I averted her gaze as emotion washed over me. I'll admit, I was never the most positive of drunks, and I was surely getting to that point; maybe drinking after hearing this news wasn't the best idea.

Ysolda emerged from the back, smiling innocently to me as she set down the drink in front of me. I smiled lightly at her, as I went to grab for the bottle, but Dorthe's reflexes were quicker than mine and she took it in her hand first. I followed her hand sluggishly with my eyes, and followed her arm up to her face, covered in a mixture of concern and anger. My face only reflected the anger, as I grabbed for my drink, to which she only pulled away more, bumping into the recruit behind her. He stumbled backwards and fell against the floor, still holding his drink upright; an impressive feat for a drunken Nord.

Dorthe stood away from me now, holding the drink above her head. The shock wave from the Nord falling attracted some attention to the scene, and the cheers of the crowd became hushed murmurs.

"Gii-ive it back" I spoke slowly, standing slowly. Why was I such a damn lightweight? Here I am, having downed one bottle of mead and I'm stumbling around as if I was Brenuin in the mid-morning sun of the market.

Dorthe glared at me, "You've had plenty, Braith," she spoke cautiously, as if warning me to slip back into my seat, "I think it's time we leave."

My mother stood with her now, moving a bit closer, looking mildly annoyed that she had to babysit her adopted daughter. That's all I was after all; a replacement for a proper child, a makeshift warrior that was in no way comparable to Lydia, the Captain of the Watch of Whiterun. These thoughts swam around in my head, before I leaped at Dorthe and reached for my bottle. Instead of stagger away and avoid me, she stepped towards me, and wrapped her arms underneath my own.

The hug she took me in was familiar to me, as the memory from earlier of my parents threatened to creep into my mind yet again. I suppressed tears at the thought, and gaped over her shoulder at my mother, who looked slightly taken aback at the sight. A few of her friends were behind her, fighting back fits of giggles. Dorthe took a step back, holding me at my shoulders, holding the bottle between her fingers at my left.

"Don't let the drink become you," she said with a stern concern in her words, "I've seen what it does to people; you don't want it to consume you."

Her words sounded rehearsed; she knew someone, close to her, that this had happened to. She was using this practiced speech on me, one that she had prepared for just the right moment. I was her right moment, and that brought back a bit of joy into my sadness.

The moment was ruined by a burly man in shining Imperial armor, that shone directly in my eyes and gave me a blaring headache, burst into the tavern. Men from the bar tried to stand at attention, and a few stumbled before collecting themselves into a proper stance. Lars had no trouble standing firmly. I narrowed my eyes to the door, only to make out my father, standing in his full armor, helm at his side so we could make out his face.

He examined us all with his piercing brown eyes, and finally turned to me, to see me no doubt hanging off Dorthe by one arm. I took the Skooma infested mead from Dorthe, with no struggle this time, I gave her a quick nod, to reassure her that I wouldn't become an alcoholic, and turned back to my father, as I sipped at the drink.

"And what do you want, old man?" I spat at him, leaning a bit too forward to examine him than I would have sober. His face was somber and sullen, and he spoke in a loud and rushed tone.

"The Aldmeri Dominion have taken Solitude," he roared, "Gather yourselves, men and women of the Imperial Legion; we leave in one hour. That should give you enough time to sober up." He spat the last line at me, causing the bottle to fall from my grip, and shattered at my feet. It was finally here; I was going to war.


End file.
